The Last Week
by schemester
Summary: Seven people, seven days until every life changes and two disappear from the mortal world.
1. Peter

**The Last Week**

_You are a sleeping lion in your bed_  
><em> I will not wake you<em>

_You're the moment_  
><em>Love has passed<em>

_ We all must learn to hate you_  
><em> You're a memory from before<em>

**Day One || October 25, 1981**

Peter slumped forward in his cushioned chair, eyes staring blankly at the torn wallpaper several feet in front of him. He pulled his legs up to his chest, and unable to shut off his swirling thoughts he blindly grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey from the table next to him. He gulped it like it was his first drink of water after being lost in the desert for days, no longer choked by the burn as it plunged down his throat. Rather, he welcomed it.

At times he doubted his choices: his life for others. He only slept with the aid of a specially brewed Dreamless Sleep; otherwise, the two times he had forgotten, he woke up with his mates in the process of hunting him down somewhere, either at Hogwarts, the Forbidden Forest, unknown other places… Each time their voices echoed in his head, "How could you do it, Peter? How?"

How could he indeed?

He cracked his knuckles and staggered up from the chair, holding a hand to his head as his vision blurred. Peter stumbled over to the wall and sank back down to the floor, pulling his wand from its holster. He cradled it in both hands, pondering if he'd rather take another easy way out and kill himself before the Dark Lord could—if he failed—or before his old mates found him—if everything went as planned. Could the Dark Lord protect him—_would_ he?

He had never been fully accepted into the Death Eater's inner circle; after all, he had been a Gryffindor. The others—mainly Slytherins along with a handful of Ravenclaws and less than a few Hufflepuffs (who were treated even better than he was for their unquestionable loyalty, the bloody badgers)—they all looked down on him to some degree. But they _all_ knew he was valuable in some way, so they reserved their callous spit for the victims of their attacks… the Mudbloods, their lovers and sympathizers, and those unfortunate bloody Muggles who happened to get in their way.

Peter rolled his wand across the floor and got back up to his feet, thinking a nice Butterbeer might lift him a bit. He made a small amount from the recipe he and the other Marauders had stolen from The Three Broomsticks years ago it seemed like now. He lifted the glass to his lips and drank, shivering at the sudden warmth buzzing through his veins.

His eyes wandered around the small dingy kitchen, finding a copy of The Daily Prophet lying strewn about on the table. Peter questioned when and how it had gotten there, and settled on the possibility that he'd been asleep when the owl had came. Maybe it had assumed him dead after… oh! With sudden realization, he lifted the sleeve of his robes and touched the previously mysterious cuts on the inside of his wrist. He shrugged, not caring if he healed them at the moment. He doubted that he would be able to, anyway. Any skill of his had diminished within the past month, especially so in the past week. It was as if even his own magic despised him.

Peter ran a couple of fingers down the bridge of his dirty nose (not as if any other place on his body was_clean_; he hadn't bathed himself in at least a week or two, though he had told James and Lily that it was because of work for the Order…). He walked over to the table like a dying man and sat down in a seat, pulling the paper over to him when a great shattering of glass made him jump. His heart beat erratically, and he jerked his head around to find his wand and the source of the noise. His eyes landed on a broken window above the kitchen sink; Peter scrambled for his wand.

"Show yourself, will you? Fuckin' coward!" Peter yelled, though his teeth chattered and his eyes brimmed with tears, though he told himself that that was because of the unforgiving gusts of wind that blew through the broken window. This October was worse than any of the previous ones he had been through, and he assumed that some of it was because of this Wizarding war. The Dark Lord didn't seem like a master who enjoyed copious amounts of sunshine, Peter thought.

He fixed the window with a few waves of his wand after poking his head outside, muttering curse words under his breath. He bypassed the newspaper, deciding it best to not worry about the deaths anymore. The only news he was anxious for would come soon enough.

**Author's Note:** The lyrics quoted are from Editors' song "When Anger Shows." Thanks for reading, and I appreciate any reviews. :)

**Disclaimer:** I'm not J. K. Rowling; I claim no ownership of _Harry Potter_ or its characters, etc.


	2. Remus

_We can blow on our thumbs and posture,_  
><em>But the lonely are such delicate things,<em>  
><em>The wind from a wasp could blow them,<em>  
><em>Into the sea,<em>  
><em>With stones on their feet,<em>  
><em>Lost to the light and the loving we need.<em>

_Still to come,_  
><em>The worst part and you know it,<em>  
><em>There is a numbness,<em>  
><em>In your heart and it's growing.<em>

**Day Two || October 26, 1981**

"Remus… Remus…"

The said man lay haphazardly across a filthy tattered sofa, his hood covering most of his head except for the tufts of sandy hair that stuck out, as well as some of his badly cut face. He grunted in response and turned in towards the back of the piece of furniture as if burrowing in for a long winter.

The person who had called his name patiently before wouldn't wait, though. He stooped down and poked the back of Remus's head—covered by the hood of his robe—with his wand, and Remus started like he'd been electrically shocked. Yet he didn't even _have _electricity here, so he realized within an instant of reclaiming back his comprehension that there was another magical person in his house.

Instantly, he grabbed hold of his own wand and turned around, rubbing at one eye blearily, the other trained on the invader with a steely resolve until he saw who it was. When he did, Remus sat up and pointed a shaky finger at him.

"Sirius? Aren't you… why are you here?" Remus knit his eyebrows together and let his hand fall back down to his lap, trying to make sense of Sirius's sudden presence. He hadn't seen him in at least three weeks.

Sirius shrugged and pulled a chair over, spinning it around so his chest leaned against the back of it. He rested his chin on his arms and simply looked at Remus, enough that Remus started to feel a bit uncomfortable as he twiddled about with his wand.

Then, suddenly, "I was lonely, Remus, that's all. Assume you'd understand where I'm coming from, mate." The corner of his mouth twitched, and Remus could see the sadness in Sirius's eyes, too.

Remus shut his eyes for a moment and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "Yeah, I understand, it's just… I thought you'd be busy with the Order."

Sirius snorted, "Dumbledore hasn't given me anything to do, and you know that he doesn't just have an open policy on who's who in the Order. The only others I know who're in it besides you, Peter, James, and Lily are Moody and Hagrid. Haven't heard from either of them in weeks, don't know where they are, and I can't even go into Diagon Alley to get a bleedin' owl to find them. Doubt I could ever find Mad-Eye anyway, the fuckin' mad bloke."

"Well," Remus smiled faintly, "You know you can always find me here. Once you get past the charms and the password, of course. I'm not a prat about security."

He glanced down as Sirius reached his arm out and put it on one of his shoulders, his fingers gently squeezing it.

"Know you're not, Remus. You were the smartest wizard at Hogwarts during our years—"

"Smartest in Gryffindor, you mean," Remus said with a soft chuckle.

"Ah, I don't even count the bloody Ravenclaws, smartarses."

Remus grinned and stood up to stretch. He then asked Sirius if he'd like a cup of tea, not that he really even had to ask. Back before the war became so serious, so _deadly_; when he, Sirius, Peter, James, and Lily could get together … Lily always made them tea.

As he boiled the water, Remus turned his head and said, "Now you know I'm not Lily, yeah?"

Sirius's eyes widened in mock surprise, his mouth slack, "You aren't? Well, shite, I must be going blind, then! Was sure you were Lily and that skinny rod with the bright head was James just lighting his hair on fire again." When Remus laughed, Sirius grinned and walked over to him.

"Know how I like it?"

"Yeah, yeah, you clingy mutt," Remus sighed, "Now get your chin off my shoulder?" He glanced back into Sirius's grey eyes, the corner of his lip curling up at the sight of his mate and that pout of his.

"Eh, lonely, you know. Gets to me."

Remus sniggered, "Nah, you've always been a touchy-feely lap dog, you arse."

"Ah, well," Sirius shrugged, "can't disagree with that." He did go and sit down at the small table, though, drumming his fingers lightly on the wooden surface.

They drank their tea in near silence, only commenting on "safe" topics; the weather, their school days, things that Sirius was obviously getting tired of talking and hearing about. Even Remus had to admit that he was becoming listless—he couldn't go to Diagon Alley to purchase any more books, and he didn't dare try and owl order them. He had protected his tiny home as well as he could, and only a few people knew exactly how to get in.

"Can't wait until this is finally over."

Remus looked up from his cup and saw a new kind of vulnerability in Sirius's grey eyes, fingers clasped around his own mug. He tried to smile, but it wouldn't hold. He sighed and nodded, "Me either, Sirius."

They talked for several more minutes until Sirius became oddly quiet, his eyes going right over Remus's head; Remus supposed that he was thinking about something they couldn't talk about. He silently wished for the good days again, when nothing was secret between them.

He hated that Sirius probably thought that _he_ was the traitor.

He, betray James and Lily? Betray James Potter, the immature, cocky teenage wizard who had taken a gigantic load upon his shoulders to become an Animagus… for _him_? For poor, scraggly Remus Lupin? And Lily, that wonderful girl, the one who had loved him when he himself could not. The girl who had shown him just who he was, who he could be, that he was not just the werewolf.

_"You're a wizard, Remus. A brilliant wizard with so much potential!"_

If only he could show Sirius the memories, what proved him as loyal to the Potters as Sirius himself. Though, honestly… the way Sirius was acting, how he looked, so disheveled and worn, actually _quiet_ for more than a minute, his eyes wandering off beyond anywhere Remus could reach…

But what was he thinking? Sirius, the traitor?

When Sirius left a few minutes later, apparating back to his home, Remus sank down onto his couch, holding a hand to his forehead as he sighed.

He wanted it to go back to how it used to be.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> The lyrics quoted are from The Shins' song "A Comet Appears."

**Disclaimer:** I'm not J. K. Rowling; I claim no ownership of _Harry Potter_ or its characters, etc.


	3. Severus

_I am the son and heir_  
><em>Oh, of nothing in particular<em>

_You shut your mouth_  
><em>How can you say<em>  
><em>I go about things the wrong way?<em>  
><em>I am human and I need to be loved<em>  
><em>Just like everybody else does<em>**  
><strong>

**Day Three || October 27, 1981**

Severus Snape; ah, why did they have to give him such a name? He slumped forward in his rickety wooden chair, tapping his wand idly on the table. Severus… it slid off the tongue well enough, but the words sever and severe were in it… as if he was destined to sever ties and become severe himself through it all.

Meant to be or not, it had happened.

And now, even though he was on the "right side," as Dumbledore—or rather Albus—said to him, he wasn't _happy_. He still went to meet with Lord Voldemort and the other Death Eaters, though now he had to use almost every piece of himself to keep his Occlumency shield up around the truth. He still listened, adding the odd sentence here and there, though his attention focused on his old Master, his facial movements and vague words and the tone of his cold voice.

Any sign of what was to come for certain.

He reported to Dumbledore just about every other day as their meetings became increasingly frequenter than in the past. Severus gesticulated with his hands, Dumbledore's head in the fire or his entire body in the same room, eyeing him with rapt attention. They spoke of their suspicions, and before Dumbledore—_Albus—_left sometimes, he would ruffle the top of Severus's head with one of his wrinkled hands. Severus made a disgruntled noise every time, though before Albus disappeared into the fire, he would wink at Severus and in return Severus always gave a small smirk.

As soon as Albus left each time, though, Severus extinguished the fire and trotted straight up to his parent's former bedroom. He stared at himself in their mirror for several seconds, just observing himself with a self-hatred before he made another tiny crack in the mirror with his wand.

He'd been doing this for a few months now, and the cracks distorted his appearance so grotesquely that he hardly looked human anymore. At least when he stood in front of it he saw himself for who he really was. He'd put himself in so deep he'd put the only person he had ever truly loved in mortal danger. Voldemort said that he would give her a second chance, a way out if he could only kill her son. Severus tried to ease himself with that thought, fooling himself with the entertaining thought that she could ever leave her _son_ for her own life instead. He knew that he was in denial; she wasn't a _Slytherin_ after all. She was brash in a beautiful way, unlike Potter who had been so brash he'd made Severus's blood boil at his idiocy.

Severus laid his wand down on the dresser and walked over to the window, resting his elbow up against it. He laid he forehead on the back of his hand and looked out of the only window with a decent view. Their house was the last on Spinner's End; a small park separated their neighborhood from the next over. He and Lily had gone in it several times when they tired of the Spot. Lily always needed a change of view or scenery, except when it came to Severus's hair.

The summer before their third year they had come to this park, holding hands as friends and nothing more. Severus had pulled Lily into a cluster of bushes, one hand on hers as the other pulled his long locks back—"Thinking of cutting my hair, Lily, what do you-?"

He hadn't the time to finish his thought when Lily pulled his hand away and laid down that she would not have that.

"Or what if I do it anyway?" he had grinned somewhat cheekily. She wound her fingers through his hair, an odd and distant look in her clear green eyes. In an instant they snapped back into focus, though.

She gave him a simpering smile back, "Then I'll just have to make it grow back."

After several more rounds of spatting back and forth about his hair, he'd agreed to keep it at least around his shoulders.

"Didn't know you were so attached to it," he said, casting her a sidelong glance while she watched a butterfly flutter in her open palm.

After their friendship had gone to shite, Severus spent many days entertaining the thought of finally slicing off most of his hair. Many a time his housemates jerked him out of his thoughts, saying that he'd seemed to develop a fetish for caressing his own hair. Severus barely realized what they were talking about until he drew his hand away from his head.

One time in the library he'd been looking at his hair, wondering how much he could cut without hating himself. He play snipped at it with his fingers, lost in that little world, when smooth fingers grabbed hold of his hand and pulled it away from his hair.

He looked up at Lily, biting his lip out of reflex. It was the only way to keep his dirty mouth shut sometimes.

"What?" he asked her, probably a bit too harshly.

"Cut it or don't, just don't keep mulling over it, Severus. It's painful to watch." Lily's tone was cut and dry, her pet name for him lost to memories. She ended their touch and walked away.

_Painful_. He was causing her _pain_. Severus frowned down at his book.

He didn't cut it.

Severus sighed, his hands again moving through his hair. It had been years since she'd told him that, she hadn't seen him properly in years. But he still kept it around his shoulders.

Lucius had asked him about for quite some time, and Severus always shrugged him off with, "I just like it like this. Your hair is long, too, isn't it, Lucius?"

His hair was really the least of his worries at the moment, though. What else did he have to entertain himself with, though, if not those memories? If he thought too much on the present, he was sure he'd go mad. After all, Albus kept looking at him in such an odd, almost _paternal_ way. As if he knew what was going to happen, the old fool.

Severus scoffed and lay down on the bed, pulling a photograph out of the bedside drawer. His younger self and Lily grinned up at him, forever fourteen years old.

**Author's Note:** Lyrics are from The Smith's song, "How Soon Is Now?" I don't own them, blah blah blah. Four more chapters to go; thanks for reading and waiting on me update this if you have been.

**Disclaimer:** I'm not J. K. Rowling; I claim no ownership of _Harry Potter_ or its characters, etc.


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